Okay. So he yelled.
A passing nurse—Jackie—stuck her head in. “Whoa, tiger.”
He raised his hands. “Sorry.”
Jackie knew him, uh, well. Considering they’d spent six months tearing up the sheets. At some point, she’d realized the only sparks between them happened in the sack and moved on. Gabe? He could have been happy with burning sheets. What single, thirty-three-year-old male wouldn’t?
At least until Jo came along. Now he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Aside from her naked in his bed.
Jackie pointed at Jo. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. He’s harmless.”
“Oh, honey,” Jackie said. “I wouldn’t say he’s harmless.”
Crap on a cracker. “Really, Jackie?”
She laughed at him and continued down the corridor. He turned back to Jo, who was analyzing him with the intensity of a sex therapist at Hedonism.
“What was that?” Jo asked.
“Nothing. She’s a smartass.”
“You know her, then?”
He shrugged. “I’m in and out of here. Somebody on my team is always getting hurt.”
“And here I thought I was special.”
“You’re special, all right. You’re my special pain in the ass.”
Jo swung her legs over the side of the bed. Gabe was brewing for a fight. He might be six inches taller than her, but she wasn’t afraid of him. Not a chance. Maybe she pushed his buttons, but the thing he hadn’t figured out was that, together, they were an unbeatable team. “How fitting. That’s makes us both pains in the asses. Let’s finish this later. I’m too tired to fight with you.”
His gaze locked onto her black stiletto boot. A gift from the president of Barelli for her dedication to getting the city to tighten counterfeiting laws. One thing about working with high-end companies, they knew how to keep the fashion princess in her happy. Gabe slid his gaze up her legs. At the intensity of those eyes, her core turned to a flaming ball of lust.
The man had no idea how hot he was. Or maybe he did. His rock-hard body, coal-dark eyes and hair, and a face filled with sharp angles didn’t exactly have women running from him. Unable to use her injured hand, she eased off the bed and he grabbed her elbow so she didn’t fall. What with all his male hotness sending her into convulsions and all. “So, you’re a leg man.”
He waited for her to stand and gave her one of those shark grins he was so good at. “Breast man too.”
Idiot. At least he didn’t look at her boobs. Still, for the first time all afternoon, she laughed. “Lucky me. I have a set of both.”
“Eh-hem.”
This came from a young female doctor who stood in the doorway and had obviously heard the exchange.
“Warn your girlfriends,” Jo said to her. “Sergeant Townsend is not only a leg man, he’s a boob guy too. The man is dangerous, I tell you.”
The owl-eyed doctor simply stared. Sister can’t hang with the big dogs. Jo glanced at Gabe. Was that a bit of a red flush on those perfect olive cheeks? Just maybe, she’d embarrassed him. Which only increased the inferno swarming inside her.
The doctor took one giant step into the room, but stayed clear—way clear—of them. Too funny. “I need to wrap your hand. Then we’ll get you out of here.”
“I’ll wait in the hall,” Gabe said.
The doctor waggled her fingers and Jo held her injured hand out. “He’s a good guy. What you heard? We were teasing. He’s not a pig.”
“Jo,” Gabe said from the hall. “I can hear you.”
“Hush! I’m telling her you’re a nice guy. But forget it. I changed my mind. You’re a jerk. Happy?”
The doc shook her head while she scrutinized the job ahead of her. “Wow. You two should just have sex and get it over with. Major tension.”
“Nice,” Gabe said from the hall.
Jo rolled her eyes. “We work together. We’re not—you know.”
“Well,” the doctor said. “Maybe you should be.”
Chapter Three
Gabe unlocked Jo’s apartment door and pushed it open. The converted building used to be Hoboken’s old Lipton Tea factory and, although he preferred living in a house, the place was pretty damned cool.
Still, he’d better get extra points for driving her to Jersey rather than putting her on the ferry.
He could see why she lived here though. Between the view of Manhattan and the ferry being steps away, she didn’t have a long commute to work. Using her uninjured hand, she waved him into the apartment.
“It’s four-thirty,” he said. “You need to call that ortho. See if you can get in there tomorrow.”
She dumped her briefcase on the sparkling glass table just past the breakfast bar. “Yes, Daddy.”
Smartass. “Call him now so I know you did it.”
“Gabe, I’ll call him. Can I take my shoes off please?”
The apartment had a combo dining room-living room layout. Surrounding a door leading to the balcony were floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a sliver of the Hudson River and the Manhattan skyline just beyond. To his left was a short hallway with a couple of doors. Bedroom and bath probably.
Maybe he’d ask for a tour.
Of the bedroom.
If the modern chrome furnishings in the main area gave a clue, he expected the bedroom to be just as adventurous. The only blast of color in the otherwise gray, black and white space was a bright red rug under the table. Somehow it fit her personality. All business except for the simmering spark underneath.
Yeah. He wanted to see the bedroom.
“Crap,” she said from the sofa where she had her slacks pulled to her knees. “I’m sorry, but would you help me with these boots? I need two hands to pull them off.”
He kneeled in front of her, grabbed a hold of the boot and glanced up. “Ready?” Her lips slid into a snarky grin. This should be good. “Go ahead, say it.”
She must have reconsidered, because she shook her head. “No. I’ll control myself. Except…”
He sat back on his haunches. “Yes?”
“Except…” She stomped her free foot. “I can’t stand it. I have to say it.”
Trying not to laugh became an effort. As nuts as she made him, she was entertaining. He gave into the urge and laughed. Why not? Considering he had urges happening on several levels. The professional in him ignored the brain in his crotch and focused on her lush lips that were quirked into a wicked grin. His hands were on her, his fingers moving over the suede of her boot before he gave it a good yank. “So say it already.”
She leaned forward and her blues eyes sparkled. “Oh, Sergeant,” she said, in her best sex kitten voice. “I’ve waited so long to bring you to your knees.”
Shit. The brain in his crotch snapped to, but the big brain’s focus was on her bringing him to his knees and every comeback got gobbled up by that vision.
Yep, he was gone. Totally wasted.
She rolled backward, her arms held high, the victor in their battle of who could out-sass the other.
That did it. No way he’d let her win. “Sweetheart,” he said, “all you had to do was ask.”
“Dang it.” She punched her fist in the air. “Thought I had you.”
She had him all right. Good thing his cargo pants were loose, because he had one hell of a boner.
Putting aside thoughts of him on his knees in her bedroom, he grabbed hold of the other boot, pulled it off and set it next to its mate on the floor. “Call the doc. Running out of day here. Then we need to talk about you and these hits.”
“Blah, blah.” She rose from the sofa and pointed to the spot she’d vacated. “Have a seat while I call. I figure since you drove me to Jersey, I should treat for dinner. You up for it, sailor?”
He boosted himself to the L-shaped sofa and nearly died because he could stretch his big body into it.
He’d marry her just for the sofa. Smart mouth and all.
As soon as she made that appointment, he’d convince her
that for her own safety, she should not participate in the hits. After that pipe to her knuckles, it shouldn’t be hard. He’d simply lay it out for her and make her see reason. His team could bag and tag any items she needed while she stayed safely in her office.
The upshot would be that if he could create enough distance between them, he wouldn’t have to see her all the time. Maybe then they could explore the more personal aspects of their relationship.
He wouldn’t mind spending the impending winter keeping Jo warm.
Gabe pulled his own boots off and stretched back. Outside, the lights of Manhattan came alive against darkening skies. He loved that city. Even with the brutality and ugliness he saw day in and day out, down deep he craved its frenetic energy. Each night, he went home to Queens where he lived in the third-floor apartment of his parents’ three-family home. His folks were on the first floor, where they’d been for the last forty-two years of marriage. Maybe he was a mama’s boy, but he didn’t see a whole lot of reasons to move out. If they needed him, he was right upstairs. He just had to make sure his mother and her bionic hearing didn’t hit on the nights he didn’t come home. Not that there were a lot because, truth be told, he was growing bored with the whole one-night-stand thing.
It was, in fact, fairly disgusting at times. Sucked to get old.
“Okay,” Jo said. “I have an appointment at nine-fifteen tomorrow. I’m all set. You can quit worrying.”
“I always worry.”
She tapped him on the top of his head. “You look comfortable. Great sofa, isn’t it?”
“I want this sofa.”
She dropped into the chair across from him. The one with no arms. That was a little weird. A chair without arms. Nothing to lean on.
“Sorry, big boy. It’s all mine. Is this doctor you’re sending me to any good?”
“Yeah. He’s my buddy from high school. He still lives down the street from me. You’ll like him. Go easy though. He can’t handle your wicked tongue.”
“Ooh, a fresh victim? How thrilling.”
He rolled to a sitting position. “I’m not kidding. Don’t harass him.” He flashed a grin. “He doesn’t have my stamina.”
“You know, when you say things like that, you’re begging me to mouth off.”
“I do know that. It’s fun. You’re not afraid to engage. Keeps me sharp.” He slapped his fingers against the edge of the glass coffee table. “Let’s talk about these warrants and I’ll give you a couple dozen reasons why you shouldn’t be on scene when we execute them.”
She scrunched her nose. Such an un-Jo thing to do. “Let’s not.”
“The first reason,” Gabe said, “is your broken hand—the ultimate proof that you could get hurt. From there, your arguments will all go downhill. My advice to you is to let New York’s finest handle the bagging and tagging while you stay out of harm’s way.”
“Right.”
He smacked his hands against his thighs. “Glad you agree. You made it easy on me.”
“Nice try, Sergeant. I absolutely don’t agree. Today was an isolated instance. Your rookie screwed up, Gabe. That’s why I wound up with a broken hand. Frankly, I should sue the city.”
Sue the…
“Incompetence,” she said. “Who’s training these officers?”
“Uh, that would be me. At least this time. And you’re not suing the city. You’re trying to shrink my balls. It won’t work. I got balls of steel, honey.”
“I know you do. That’s why I will continue to go on these raids—sorry, hits. You and your balls of steel will take care of making sure the men do their jobs, and we’ll successfully shut down the major traffickers.” She waved a fist at him. “If we can get this guy we’re chasing, all the other crooks stealing from my clients will be running scared. We need to shut him down.”
If they were going to knock heads, Gabe wanted to be first to knock. “We will get him. My problem is these merchants are starting to recognize you. When you’re roaming around looking for potential storefronts to hit, if you’re spotted on one end of Tower Street, it takes less than a minute for the merchants on the other end to know. Then everyone takes their counterfeit merchandise and hides. What good does that do us? It slows down the process. Let your investigators do it. They don’t have your, shall we say, assets, and will be less noticeable. Plus, they can rotate.”
She leaned back and squinted. “Did you just refer to my tits as assets?”
“I did indeed.”
“I’ll beef up my disguises.”
Crazy stubborn, this woman. “That’s not the point. Come on, Jo. You got hurt today.”
She stood and propped her good hand on her hip. “I know I got hurt, but it won’t happen again. I’ll admit I should have made sure you’d secured the shop, but I got excited. I jumped the gun. The rookie and I both screwed up. Put me in the Gabe penalty box and let me have it. Do your worst. Then we move on. Okay? Please?”
Please. Did he hear that right? And she admitted she’d been wrong. He shook his head, stuck a finger in his ear as if cleaning it.
Jo rolled her eyes. “Have your fun. Go ahead.”
She stood waiting while he glanced out the window at the Manhattan skyline now fully ablaze. Continuing to let her tag along on these hits wouldn’t do either one of them any good. And not just for carnal reasons. Images of her sprawled on a sidewalk with blood leaking from her body filled his head.
With indecision tugging him, he came back to her. Found her staring at him with those big blue eyes while she bit down on her bottom lip. Oh, man. She was totally playing him.
“Please?” Her voice was low, husky and strained. Pure emotion, not the sex kitten voice, and it was killer. “I need this, Gabe.”
As much as he wanted to claim victory—he’d broken the mighty Jo Pomeroy—there was not one ounce of goddamned fun in it. He didn’t want her pleading with him…at least not work-related pleading. He wanted her clashing with him. Fighting back. Making him work for it. He equally loved and despised that in her.
Maddening woman.
But he wanted her. In a bad way.
Wasn’t this Jo’s worst nightmare? She would rather rip out her own ovaries than beg a man for anything. Having it be Gabe only made things worse. This man matched her intelligence on every level and, unlike many men she’d run across, he wasn’t afraid to challenge her.
And possibly lose.
This maniac actually liked losing to a strong woman. As long as he fought the good fight, he didn’t care if he lost. He might yell and beat on his chest, but he’d admit when he was wrong.
Painful as it might be.
This time though, he had her. When it came to the raids, he was in charge. Whether she liked it or not, Gabe called the shots. And he had the power to isolate her. To freeze her out.
He sat back and stacked his hands on his stomach. “We’re setting clearer ground rules. You stay outside until I—only I—tell you it’s safe to go in. I don’t care if the mayor himself tells you it’s safe. Unless you hear it from me, you stay put.”
She bobbed her head. “I understand.”
“I know you understand. That’s not the issue. You understand, but you don’t listen. Today wasn’t even a fucking nibble at what could happen to you. If that guy had a shotgun, you’d be in the morgue right now.”
That set her back some. Even the most strong-willed women didn’t want to imagine their bodies riddled with bullet holes. Gabe let out a long breath and his big shoulders slid down, the weight of her antics obviously pressing in on them.
“Gabe, I’m not trying to give you a hard time.”
“Yeah, you are.”
She scrambled to the sofa and sat next to him, touched his hand and—mistake. This man had some nice hands. Hands that could do some fairly spectacular things to a thirty-three-year-old lawyer who hadn’t been under a man’s spell in a long time. She took a mental bulldozer to that thought.
“I’m really not. Honestly. Being there when the warra
nts are executed is important to me. I do so much behind-the-scenes work that getting into the thick of it is exciting. It’s the culmination of all that effort and I get to put my hands directly in it. I get to bag up the evidence. It’s a rush for me and I don’t get that every day.”
Maybe that was TMI. Talk about sounding like a brat. She jumped off the sofa. “Wow. I’m sure you’ve just about solidified listening to me whine. I’ll order us a pizza and crack a bottle—or five—of my favorite merlot. How’s that?”
In the kitchen, she grabbed the bottle of wine from the under-cabinet wine rack and pulled the opener from the drawer.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted Gabe walking toward her. “You can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
He pointed to the bottle. “Open that with one hand.”
She stared at the bottle. Hell. Then she grinned up at him. “I bet I could gnaw through the glass.”
“I have no doubt, but let’s save that for a better occasion. I’ll open the wine. And the other four. If this keeps up, I’ll need it more than you.”
He paddled his hands and the gesture, so fun and childlike for a man who embodied such fierce presence, gave her a blood rush.
Charming in a sort of perverse way. That’s what he was.
She handed him the bottle, then the opener. Let’s see if the big, bad ESU Sergeant can handle a waiter’s corkscrew. He snapped the blade side open, dealt with the foil on the bottle and went to work on the cork. In seconds, he’d completed his task.
Incredibly irritating. “That just pisses me off,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Is there anything you’re not good at?”
He grinned. The shark grin. Dangerous.
“Nope.”
“And so humble too.”
“Why would I admit my shortcomings to you? Do you like pansies?”
Over the expanse of the counter, he handed her the bottle and their fingers brushed. A light touch and certainly not the first time they’d ever had contact, but this time, something sparked. Jo went rigid. No movement. Except to bring her gaze to his, which only intensified her current state.
The Chase Page 3